


hellebores

by sakuraba



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Dirty Talk, Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuraba/pseuds/sakuraba
Summary: memories, contrary to conventional wisdom, will only last you so long.





	hellebores

**Author's Note:**

> don't expect this to make ANY sort of sense but if this pairing didn't get some attention i was going to wither and die so take... whatever this is

Speaking realistically, it's unlikely that anyone in the Black Order hasn't heard tell of Allen Walker's mouth.

God only knows how long Allen’s been working him over – Link’s cock cupped in his wine-red hand, pressed adoringly up against his cheek, his eager mouth – when Nea suddenly speaks again, slinking off the bedside like a cat in want of a canary. “Such _technique_ ,” he drawls. The set-up is palpable, would be mean-spirited had it come from anyone more typically earnest, but instead it just serves to draw their attention: cautious, on link’s end, and interested, on Allen's.

But when he continues, his voice has lost its mocking edge, dipped instead into something nearly breath-taking in its sincerity. “You’re an angel, _Allen._ ”

The effect this has on Allen is –- so striking that Link almost worries at some sort of trick, some hazy and lascivious string-pull on an overly-elaborate hex, but… but. But truth be told he’s too fascinated to pursue the thought much further, instead too distracted by the bow taking to Allen’s back, the way his hand suddenly grips hot and vice-tight on Link’s cock. He can feel Allen's gasp as much as he can hear it, has to stifle his own noise in response. Discipline, or something like it.

There is something utterly unplaceable about Nea’s laugh. (Still, Link’s mind fusses at it: sharp, empty, melancholy–?) He stands, rakes the nails of one hand down Allen's spine as he makes to settle behind him instead. “Surprised, huh?” And Allen doesn’t deny it. Nea’s hand settles on the swell of his hip. “I'm not. I  _remember._ ”

(And neither of them really knows what to say to that.)

To say it’s _good_ would be an insult to Allen's very existence. When Link is too shy to fuck into his mouth, he surges forward on his own, eager and earnest, a mess of sloppy little noises slipping from the contact. He tongues at Link’s slit even as Link can hear him gasping for breath, holds himself down so long Link is sure it must _hurt._ And it must hurt, it must, because when Allen looks up at him his eyes are bright with tears; still, he bats his eyelashes up in a daze, like he’d be smiling all slack-jawed if not for Link’s cock in his mouth.

All the while, he is acutely aware of Nea’s eyes on them. He doesn’t try to forget, and doubts Allen does either.

“You can plug his nose, you know,” Nea suggests eventually – more of his alleged memories, or maybe he’s just teasing. Regardless, Link balks at the mere thought, even as Allen _whimpers_ around his cock. Nea laughs, ruffles Allen's hair affectionately. “Suit yourself. He _really_ likes when you tell him how you’re feeling, though.”

And Link… _can’t,_ he just can’t, it’s already too much just to be here, Allen's head between his legs and Nea moving them around like dolls with just the slightest suggestion. He wonders, half-delirious, what sight Nea is more interested in – Link with his hands snarled in the sheets and his iron-wrought composure unraveling like cotton, braid messy and loose from where Allen's hands had fussed at it earlier, or rather Allen on his knees, his angelic face all flushed and stuffed full and _still_ gluttonous for more. Just the thought has his knuckles white, his lip gnawed between his teeth. Control, discipline, bind bind bind.

But there are Allen's eyes, still bright with long-spilled tears and desperate, _pleading_. Shaking, Link brings a hand up to cup his cheek, and feels his resolve crumble as he feels the outline of his cock through the soft skin there.

"You’re– so good,” he says. His vocabulary seems to have left him, and left friction burns on his throat in its wake; still, Allen seems to mind little, moaning high and thready around his dick. His hand slides from Allen's face to his hair, gentle and desperate. “You’re making me feel. So, so good, W– _ah…_ ”

Nea laughs, something dark and throaty. “The good inspector is such a _gentleman_ ,” he says, snide, and snarls a hand in Allen's hair. Link has half a mind to protest, but Allen's eyes roll back a little as Nea's hand wrenches him back, and, well. “Good boy, Allen-- look at you, how eager you are to please. Getting all fucked-out like this just making Link here feel good, huh?” And with that he jerks Allen's head forward, then back again, then–-

It’s so obscene, so absolutely unforgivably _filthy_ that Link can’t even think about looking away, about anything but the sight of Nea fucking Allen's mouth onto Link's cock. He can feel it, how Allen whimpers and drools and chokes; would feel cruel if not for the way Nea's other hand has slipped between walker’s legs, steady and teasing even as the other keeps a relentless pace. All the while, Nea manages to keep up that constant stream of praise, adorations and vulgarities murmured low into Allen's skin.

(Link thinks Allen might fall apart entirely, like this, being told how good he is, how he’s making them feel, how they can’t stop looking at him. He wonders if he'd mind.)


End file.
